Rimanoa

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Notes: (this time there was no photo, only a verbal portrait) fat, broad-shouldered, brown eyes, dented nose, thin lips, a small scar on the forehead.

In 10 kilometers from the cabin we needed there was an abandoned town of miners, where you could come by car (in the same way we expected to leave).

"B" day.

7:06 a.m. Aug. 16.

The "five-minute stopover" was a one-story house with one front door and six windows. It was typical for such a place: two rooms, a kitchen, and a toilet (no furniture, and the only indication of a bathroom and toilet was a small unbroken patch of ceramic against the door). I climbed into the latrine to contact the Syracuse base (two people).

No sooner had I opened my laptop than the jamming sounded. Since only Ghost had a jammer out of the whole group, I had to radio to him: "Mih, what else is there?"

"It's okay two less…" "Two what?"

"By enemies…"

"What enemies, warrior? Are you sure they're not just passersby?" "I'm sure they have machine guns."

"Okay, well, over and out." The battle has begun…

I pushed the door open and saw a machine gunner running fifty meters outside the window. I noticed him, he noticed me, which prompted me to "dive" into the depths of the toilet. After shattering the proof of the existence of the latrine. Having honored the memory of the tile with two seconds of inactivity, I stuck out the muzzle of the automatic rifle (this time it was a Russian NA (Nikonov's Abakan automatic rifle with a magazine for 60 cartridges; the most successful caliber – 5.45, superfast rate of fire – 2000 v/min., almost record initial velocity of 950 m/sec., low recoil due to the unique system of recoil, low recoil due to a unique system of barrel recoil during firing, as well as a special mode of firing two cartridges (the sound merges into one) and high accuracy, in short, not a machine gun, but a fairy tale – a weapon of the twenty-first century) and pulled the trigger, then climbed out of the now worthless room and saw the same "hero", but with five holes in the chest. "I'm getting old," I thought, as I fired six shots and only hit five. There was no one else visible outside the window, and the shots, as if on cue, stopped messing up my hearing.

"Don't move for exactly two minutes," I said into the radio. Two minutes passed, there were no rustles, the ceramics and glass were gone, and there was a pile of corpses outside the windows.

"Alright, we go in groups to the forest at three minute intervals (the groups had long ago been arranged in order and composition: #1 – Me and Polazzi, #2 Salvatore and Rozh, #3 – Bulatovs, and finally #4 – 'Ghost'; actually it would be more appropriate to combine L?ttvec with Rozh, since the commander that I am usually isn't in any pair, but the German is used to working alone).

I won't drag on: everyone made it to the woods, but Michael was a little late: "What took you so long? Did you forget your watch at home?"

"In that situation, there was only one way not to waste time…" "Like what?"

"Lay down your weapons." "Why didn't you fold it?"

"Hehe, you're kidding, commander."

"Well, okay, we don't have a long way to go at 9.5 kilometers, uh, by the way, did anyone bring spray with them?"

"I've got it, Commander," Emilien echoed.

"And I've noticed it works wonderfully," Danila confirmed and clapped the Frenchman on the shoulder, squashing the insect.

"I don't get it…"

"A mosquito. – Bulatov showed the parasite, pulling a vial out of his back pocket, "This one will help much better.

The collapse of a three-story empire

8:46 a.m. Aug. 16.

Surprisingly enough, we made it to the walls and, after climbing over the fence, to the doors of the mansion without adventure (there were two doors, one had #1 and #2, the other had the rest).

The instruments of attack played – I kicked the door off to I don't know what mother, we flew in like butterflies, shrieking and knocking over everyone and everything in our path.

Nothing made the billets of defense – the corpses of the guards remained where my or, at the very least, not my cannon found them. It gave the impression that we were Vandals, and they were poor and rich, peaceful and warlike, weak and strong… the inhabitants of Rome.

From the large hall connected to the entrance, there was a wide corridor turning to the right and left (Nos. 1, 2 were distributed accordingly). After running a few meters and shooting three of the defenders, I crouched down to transfer into the house (it could be a soul running around like a rabbit, and the body is still around that corner). Marlboro followed suit.

Transported to "Rome," I was able to see what I saw. It wasn't a long, greasy corridor, flanked by doors that hadn't yet been smashed open by some barbarian.

О! Here is one opening, and there is someone's "pumpkin", already broken by my bullet (just in case, this time the armor-piercing ones were in the clip). "Pumpkin" and everything else fell, fell, crashed, whatever you want, from the top to the foot. The foot (that is, the carpet) crumpled, the sculpture standing next to it staggered, but I remained as calm as ever and went on, going into each room in turn.

The scheme of penetration is not complicated: I take the door to the same mother, Polazzi covers, I break into the room, Polazzi closes the rear; sometimes a standard hand grenade flew in.

In one sat something like a scientist (deemed unnecessary, so dead), in the second empty, in the third two (one with a machine gun, one with a bat) killed by me.

The corridor at the end again became "crowded". The Italians had to split up: me to the right, Marlboro to the left.

My move turned out to be quite pretty: the floor turned into a staircase going down, the walls, with a distance of 66 centimeters between each other (I have an excellent eye gauge), flowed with nasty yellow liquid, but there was only one door sitting there. Near it I stopped to reload Nikonov (better to do it in front of the door than behind it), and then it opens, and behind it "ace" with a barrel.

I grabbed the knife on my belt and delivered a hard overhead stab with a reverse grip at the opener. He staggered, and I thought that wasn't enough and stabbed him with my knee. The victim fell to the bare concrete with a fountain of his own blood.

Behind him, a whole torture room opened up.....

The empty "Shed" resembled Jack the Ripper's apartment, more blood on the many chained bodies on the tables than on the keeper I'd just slaughtered, but this is the terminus station, so it's best to head back.

I returned to the place where the group had split up and walked toward Polazzi. His path was much nicer than mine: three creatures could fit through the opening. But he had more work to do, with bodies lying here and there, and, uh, wait a minute, that's him.

HE – Marlboro, not sure what he was doing on the carpet. No, I get it– lying there with two holes in his torso.

I leaned over, took my pulse, and whispered: "Buddy, are you okay?" Even though his pulse was ticking, my friend was silent: he probably didn't have long to live.